


Racing on the Thunder (And Rising with the Heat)

by Dancains



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Renaissance Faires, The Ren Faire AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 12:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancains/pseuds/Dancains
Summary: Outwardly holding firm, he politely offered his hand.Instead of accepting it, Edward crossed a fist over his chest, kneeling before him, as if Thomas were the Queen Mother preparing to grant him knighthood."My liege," he intoned gravely, looking up at Thomas through a line of dark, full lashes. Bringing himself back to full height, he cracked an embarrassed grin, no doubt at Thomas' surprise. "Sorry, too much?"





	Racing on the Thunder (And Rising with the Heat)

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I started working on a long time ago and just remembered...posting the first half to motivate myself to finally finish it. Originally inspired by a few pre-existing medieval themed Joplittle fanworks including [this graphic](https://lafiametta.tumblr.com/post/179035365152/edward-little-thomas-jopson-medieval-au-a-gift) and [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17139260) <3
> 
> Also here's a little [ren faire mood music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JstnfQVTA04&list=OLAK5uy_kkY2hucbp5-vHRDNUyJ1KMETDhho6kfmU&index=2) I've been listening to. I like the first two track especially.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was Francis' husband, James, who had roped him into it in the first place.

And, of course, anything that made James happy, made Francis happy in return--which is why Thomas was now standing in a canvas tent, on a plot of land that, until very recently, had been nearly vacant (and was about 50 km from anything that could be dubbed civilization), trying to squeeze himself into the elaborate, silken garments of a medieval prince.

Even while he was gradually completing his latest novel, James' retirement from the Royal Navy had left him with an abundant amount of free time--far more than Francis had on his hands, working full time at the Naval History Museum. At some point, three or four years ago, Francis had, quite sardonically, suggested that James apply himself to taking part in community theater productions, due to his regular displays of excessive theatrics. James, of course, had then taken to acting like a duck to water.

Somehow that acting had progressed beyond the stage of their local theatre, and he had been enlisted to play character roles in an annual renaissance fair event that was held some way out of town.

"_The king_," Francis had grumbled to him one morning at work, just before Thomas was about to lead his first tour of the day, "they're having him play the king this year. And to think my James had an ego before." 

His boss had scoffed and groaned behind his travel mug of tea, but Thomas could tell how pleased and proud Francis was underneath it all. 

He hadn't been able to go to last year's fair because he had been visiting with his mother, but he promised Francis he would attend this year, if only to see James parade around in a fur-lined cloak, leading the eccentric festivities.

But as the "Kingdom of Erebus Medieval Festival" grew closer, it seemed that the event was facing a string of minor setbacks, including certain members of the "royal court" backing out of their roles.

"The good news is," James told them over dinner, one night the couple had invited Thomas over, "that Harry's finally back in the country, and of course when I told him about the entire ordeal, he was completely gung-ho, so he'll be our royal adviser. From what I gather, he's actually attended one or two before while he was living in Canada. They have quite a few fairs of this type in North America, you know."

Across the table, Francis nodded thoughtfully, though Thomas suspected he was far more engrossed by the medium-rare steak and mixed vegetables in front of him, than notions of sorcery and sword play.

Still, these little moments secretly meant the world to him: seeing these two older men so in love and so content in their lives together. It gave him a sense of optimism for his future that he hadn't even conceived of when he had first come to terms with his own sexuality in his teens.

He was brought back into the present conversation when he felt the weight of James' gaze leveled at him.

"There is just one more matter that needs attending to, though."

"Oh?" asked Thomas politely, spearing another floret of broccoli with his fork.

"The actor who was going to be the prince of Erebus, a fellow named Collins, has just backed out entirely. Something about a mental health break--I sympathize entirely, of course, but that does leave us with one empty seat in the royal court. Now, wherever shall we find a nice young man, say, about 30 years old, who could play the part of our regal prince?"

Desperately, Thomas looked to Francis for support, but there was none to be found. Quite the contrary, he seemed amused.

"I...I couldn't. Really. The last thing I like is to be the center of people's attention."

"Are you aware, Thomas," James carefully intoned, "that you give tours at a museum? for very large groups of people, I might add."

A smile was blooming across Francis' face, glancing from his partner to his protege. Thomas grappled for a response.

"They might be listening to me talk, but it's not me they're focusing on. It's about the history and the artifacts."

"This is nearly the exact same thing--it's about bringing history alive! Really, all you have to do is walk in the royal procession, take some pictures with guest, and maybe say a few words before the knight's tournament. It'll be fun, and we know you're utterly reliable,"--here Francis nodded in agreement--"You'd be perfect."

"Well," murmured Thomas, habitually brushing a strand of hair back into place. He did hate to disappoint.

He surveyed his appearance in a mirror someone had set up in the tent, next to the portable rack of wardrobe pieces for other volunteers. Gaze traveling from the ground up, his princely vesture consisted of a pair of leather boots, snug breeches (tied closed with laces), and a billowy-sleeved tunic topped with an ornate brocade doublet, the garment shimmering jewel-blue and gold in the gray light of the early morning hour. 

He pulled on the last finishing touches that had been laid aside for him, a velvety half-length cape and a leather belt to cinch his doublet. Those, and the thin metal rim of a crown. Though embarrassed by his own vanity, he angled himself in the mirror's reflection, cape swishing luxuriously with each movement, and found himself greatly enjoying the visual effect the entire costume gave him. 

"All suited up in there?"

It was Francis at the flap of the tent, pushing it aside to enter and sporting a warm, gap-toothed smile."I think I've let James have too much influence on you," he quipped.

Francis had, at some point, submitted to being dressed in period attire, though, in his own words "nothing with too many bits and bobs". He sported a loose white shirt, earth colored doublet, and a long, leathery coat.

"Captain, you look like a pirate."

Francis let out a bark of laughter. Thomas had long out grown of the compulsion to call him by his former rank, a product of their time in the RN together, though occasionally, he would use it for the sake of humor. 

"Perhaps I am some sort of buccaneer," Francis mused, "Anyhow, James is still getting ready, and you're not needed in the 'royal chambers' for another hour or so, meaning we've some time to burn."

Francis had brought him a steaming paper cup of coffee, which he took gratefully, before they began to stroll through the mostly-built fairgrounds. The costume tent had been situated on the far perimeter of the lot, a thick-treed wood bracketing its edge, the entire landscape swirling with low-hanging fog. Aided by their attire, and the rustic look of the tents and booths that were just now beginning to populate with vendors, Thomas could easily let his mind yield to the fantasy that they had really taken a step back in time.

They made their way across nearly the entire property, occasionally perusing a stall or stand to see what wares they offered. One large tent boasted an archery gallery, yet unopened, that he decided he would like to try his hand at later. Another promised mead, roast legs of mutton, and other timely delicacies, the hearty smell of seasoned meat wafting towards them on the breeze.

They stopped at a tent advertising rare books and antiquities, the front table littered with leather bound journals and quill writing sets, whose owner Francis was well acquainted with.

"Thomas, I've introduced you to John Bridgens, haven't I?"

Thomas greeted him politely, "Yes, didn't James have that signing party for his last book at your shop?" From what he knew, John had also been a naval steward, way back when.

John nodded with a serene smile, one arm slung unselfconsciously around his partner Henry's waist. The two of them were certainly garbed for the occasion--John looking the proper part of a wizard or sorcerer, sporting his silvering beard and mid length hair, paired with a dark, velvety robe, while Henry seemed some ancient highland warrior with his tartan kilt and a sheathed sword hanging from his belt.

While Francis chatted and caught up with the couple, Thomas found himself uncharacteristically distracted by a quick, whip-like movement at the edge of his vision. Roughly 20 meters off was a fenced area, where a rider was taking his horse in long, galloping circles, no doubt warming it up for some later exposition. He couldn't make out the rider in much detail, other than the fact that he was solid-looking, dark-clad, and male, but the image of man and beast, gracefully cutting through the dense sheets of fog, struck some fanciful chord in him, like the illuminated page of a long forgotten fairy tale.

He hadn't realized that Francis had politely bowed out of the conversation until he felt a hand at his elbow. He nearly spooked at the touch.

"You seem quite taken with that horse."

"Well," Thomas hoped his face wasn't coloring, "growing up in the city, you so rarely see them in person."

He imagined there was a glint of something knowing in Francis' eyes, almost mischievous. "Let's get a closer look then, shall we?"

Thomas followed him across the dew-damp grass, to the wooden fencing that cordoned off the large stretch of dirt. To his surprise, Francis shot a hand up into the air, waving the rider over in their direction. At some point the man noticed, slowing the horse to a trotting pace and steering it towards them.

Squinting in confusion, Thomas glanced from Francis to the figure on horseback now approaching. "Do you- do you know him?"

As he came closer, Thomas could make out a shock of wavy hair framing a handsome, square face, with dark eyes and thick brows. He might have been in his early or mid thirties, and was one of the few people Thomas had come across that morning in regular attire, wearing jeans and a thick black jumper.

"Captain Crozier, is that you?" he called out, a hint of refinement and good schooling behind the words. He spared Thomas a curious, heavy-lidded glance before dismounting, and swiftly climbing over the fence. Thomas couldn't help but, briefly, notice the appealing way his jeans pulled taunt over his thighs and backside, as he hooked a leg up and over.

"Edward! How're you doing, lad?" Crozier clasped his hand. "How's your father been?"

"Good. Very good, Sir."

"There's no need for formalities--you're worse than Thomas, here."

Edward smiled shyly, the gentle creases making his face all the more striking. "I know. It's just my dad always still calls you Captain, when he mentions you." 

A handful of gold piercings glinted in each of his ears, simple studs and rings, with another ring ornamenting the left side of his nose. It wasn't the type of thing Thomas usually went for, but for some reason, the effect was a little bit intriguing.

"Thomas," said Francis," This is Edward Little. His father was a purser, before your years, I think. They figured, some weeks back, that they were short a man for the jousting tournament, so when I remembered that John Little's youngest son was a horse riding instructor, I pulled some strings. You can imagine how glad James was."

Thomas nodded. He had just privately decided that he wanted, more than anything, to run his tongue along the dimpled cleft of Edward Little's chin.

"Edward, this is Thomas Jopson, he works with me at the museum. Or, I suppose I should say,_ Prince Thomas,_ for today."

Edward regarded him, eyes sweeping up and down curiously. Looking over his flamboyant costume, of course, Thomas told himself, suppressing a self-conscious shiver. Outwardly holding firm, he politely offered his hand.

Instead of accepting it, Edward crossed a fist over his chest, kneeling before him, as if Thomas were the Queen Mother preparing to grant him knighthood.

"My liege," he intoned gravely, looking up at Thomas through a line of dark, full lashes. Bringing himself back to full height, he cracked an embarrassed grin, no doubt at Thomas' surprise. "Sorry, too much?"  
  
"No. No, I-" Thomas laughed nervously. "I'm happy to meet one of the knights of the realm." His hand still hung in between them, and Edward now shook it with a firm grip. 

He had nearly forgotten that Francis was standing just a few feet away, until the former captain's mobile chirped from his pocket--an almost comical anachronism given how he looked. Francis flipped it open, scanning some text message with a quirk to his mouth.

"It's James. Of course."

"Do I need to-" Thomas began to ask.

"No, it's just me he wants," said Francis. I'll see you in a bit." He turned to Edward, "Good luck, then."

"Hm?"

"With the tournament, later."

Edward blinked. "Of course, thank you."

Thomas shifted his weight from one boot to the other, watching Francis leave. "Sorry, I'm probably interrupting your, er, practice."

"No, no, not at all." The wind rustled Edward's hair. Somewhere in the distance of the fairground, a musician was playing some sort of jaunty medieval tune, the sound fading into the general hum of the morning. 

"Buy anything interesting?" Edward asked, gesturing to the small paper bag Thomas had been carrying.

"Oh. Just these." He pulled the pair of earrings from the bag, a few pieces of polished sea-glass hung from each, secured with curling jewelry wire. He took a half-step forward so Edward could see.

"Very pretty." Edward glanced up from the jewelry. "For someone special?"

"No, uh. I mean." Thomas was sure his ears were coloring. "I thought my mum would like them." It was a polite thing for Edward to ask, and he knew he shouldn't take it for anything beyond that.

"That's sweet of you," said Edward, almost shyly.

Thomas gave a self-deprecating shrug, a half smile on his face.

"Personally, I was eyeing those pewter tankards, with the dragons on the handle. Or a dragon ear cuff. Dragons certainly seem to be a reoccurring motif for the merchandise here, don't they?"

They both laughed, warm puffs of breath carrying on the wind.

"Speaking of-" Thomas gestured towards one of his own unpierced ears, in way of example, "are all those...quite historically accurate to a medieval knight?"

Edward snorted. "Does my appearance displease you, m'lord?"

"_No,_ no-"

The equestrian grinned, a far cry from the look of steel that had graced his features when he had been riding earlier. "I keep reminding myself I'll have to take them all about before the tourney."

Thomas composed himself, putting on the air of mock-seriousness. "Well we wouldn't want any anachronisms. Dragons notwithstanding."

Edward's eyes crinkled warmly. "You know, I think it's quite neat they've got an actual historian to play the prince."

"Well, I wouldn't quite say _historian_. I don't have a doctorate or anything, I just take people on guided tours, really."

"I think it's quite meaningful, having any part in preserving history. And teaching people things...that's very rewarding, in my experiences."

Thomas nodded. He followed Edward's gaze to the chestnut colored animal, a few yards away, whose neck was bent low to the ground while it nosed at the grass that grew at the foot of the wooden fence.

"I'm embarrassed to admit, to an expert such as yourself, that I haven't actually seen a lot of horses close up."

Edward's face lit up like a spark. "Would you like to pet him?" Thomas had barely given him a response, when he gave a low whistle, garnering the horse's attention. "Lancelot, here." The animal trotted back over to them, leaning over the top of the fence. 

"Put your hand out like this," Edward instructed, palm out flat. Thomas mimicked the movement, and the horse moved instinctively moved to nuzzle the top of his head against his hand, the same place a white diamond contrasted the rest of his darker coat. Thomas grinned, as the horse nickered contentedly.

"Some horses don't actually like to be pet that much, people mistakenly treat them like dogs. Lance, here, is quite naturally affectionate, though." He stroked the horse on the side of its neck, clearly overtaken with fondness.

"Lucky me," Thomas murmured, eyes on Edward nearly as much as they were on the horse. Its fur was, admittedly, softer than he would have imagined. He wondered if the same might be said for the man's hair.

"Lancelot? Shouldn't that be the rider's name, not the horse?"

Edward tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, "You've got me there. Guess I just always liked those sort of books growing up..._The Once and Future King_..._Mists of Avalon_. Funny, I never thought to come to a fair like this before."

"Well, I'm glad you did now." Thomas let his hand fall away from the horse.

Edward parted his lips, as if he were grappling for some kind of response. He ducked his head, studying his own boots.

Bordering on embarrassment by the earnestly of his own declaration and looking for some small distraction, Thomas surreptitiously checked the digital watch he had hidden under the cuff of his tunic. As he brought his elbow up, Lancelot suddenly clamped his teeth around one of the ribbons that festooned Thomas's sleeve.

"_No!_ Stop that!" Edward immediately intervened, but Thomas had already instinctively jerked away. Soon the long, gold ribbon was left in Edward's hand, seemingly undamaged but clearly separated from Thomas's tunic.

"I'm so sorry," said Edward, "he used to do that when he was a foal, pluck at people's clothes. Naughty little beastie." He gave the horse a stern look. "Thought we trained him out of it."

"Oh, it's fine," Thomas exhaled, "Just more of a surprise than anything. I don't think anyone would even notice, really." He briefly surveyed himself. It seemed that medieval reenactment had its own peculiar, unforeseen hazards.

"Still, I'm really sorry about that." He held out the ribbon.

Thomas reached for it, then paused. "You could keep it."

"What?" Edward blinked.

It was rare that Thomas made such a bold first move with men, but something about Edward urged him onward. "In your books about King Arthur and his knights, didn't any of them receive...favors, or tokens when they went off to battle? Something to promise that they would return?" He could picture a painting he had once seen in a London gallery, a long haired princess bestowing a silk cloth upon her armor-clad beloved.

Edward looked down at the ribbon, as if it were suddenly some priceless, holy relic in his hand, then back at Thomas. He nodded with enthusiasm, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Would you mind if I-"

"Please," Edward breathed, nearly before Thomas had decided what he was even doing.

He stepped forward, taking the ribbon from Edward's hand. He nudged the man's arm, until he got the hint and held it out slightly from his body, so Thomas could wrap the strand of gold around it, tying it with a loose knot. He couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of taunt muscle under wool, as he grazed his fingers over Edward's bicep.

"You'll have to return it to me, of course," Thomas gave him an innocent smile, "after you win the tournament."

He heard a catching sound in Edward's throat. "Of course."

He patted Edward's arm again, just because he could. _Eat your heart out, Queen Guinevere,_ Thomas thought privately.

"Good. I think I need to be going now. My royal duties await me." He gave a slight incline of his head and turned on his heels, fighting the urge to glance back over his shoulder as he purposefully crossed the wet grass. 

Either Edward was very, very deeply invested in Elizabethan role-play, or the man fancied Thomas. Truthfully, he suspected a bit of both. 


End file.
